


most people drink to forgot, but he drinks to remember.

by totallynotbees



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Bucky Barnes Has PTSD, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Flashbacks, Hhhhhhh, I Don't Even Know, M/M, Steve fucks up, Steve is trying his best, badly written fluff, bucky on the floor, gay thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-22
Updated: 2018-11-22
Packaged: 2019-08-27 10:58:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16701202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/totallynotbees/pseuds/totallynotbees
Summary: "It's not like a stab wound you can protect me from. It's a million little paper cuts every day.”Bucky knows his big triggers - guns, loud noises, sudden touches being a few. He’s learned how to recognize and avoid them. But it’s the small things that he can’t predict that are often the deadliest of them all.AKA, it's been a while since I posted and I suddenly hate this.





	most people drink to forgot, but he drinks to remember.

**Author's Note:**

> This sucks but oh well, leave your criticism or comments.

It’s one of those days again. Bucky wakes with a headache and a racing heart - probably another nightmare. It leaves him with a sense of anxiety that settles deep in his bones, so he and Steve elect to stay home for the day. Besides. Steve says, he’s got a surprise. Bucky hates surprises normally, they never seem to turn out well, but he’s willing to suffer a bit for his boyfriend. Steve walks to the kitchen and retrieves a paper bag from under the sink, pulling out a small bottle.

“Look, Buck, you remember this?” He passes the bottle to Bucky, who takes it. It’s small and made of amber glass, with a faded label he can’t be bothered to read. Confused as to why Steve seems so excited, he turns the bottle over to see the front. There’s a small red bird printed on it that seems so familiar. “You know it yet?” Steve asks. Bucky shakes his head, and Steve takes the bottle and takes off the cap. Idly Bucky notes that he likes the noise, then the glass bottle is once again pressed into his hands. “Take a drink!” Steve urges him. 

Bucky shrugs, and takes a long swig. The liquor burns, and it reminds him of something. He just has time to think, finally, before it feels like the floor disappears beneath him, and suddenly he’s falling backwards into memories. Not unpleasant ones, actually he’s quite fond of them, but they’re overpowering nonetheless.

He’s sitting on Steve’s couch, and the two boys are maybe thirteen years old. Steve is scrawny, smaller than Bucky remembers, sitting cross legged with a bottle in hand. Steve takes a sip, sputtering and coughing when he swallows, and Bucky sees himself grab the bottle and drink from it. He remembers the red bird on the label, and the way it burned on the way down like sipping fire.

Then he’s fifteen, and he and Steve are eating dinner together while their moms are out. They put on some music while they clean the table, and it quickly turns to a dance party, so who can blame them if they maybe dance a little too close? Bucky remembers his body brushing Steve’s and frantically looking anywhere other than his best friend’s face. He settles his gaze on a small bottle in the cabinet, and the way the amber glass seems to wink at him is crystal clear in his mind.

Next Steve and Bucky are in their twenties, sharing a tent in middle of nowhere. What happened before this moment he can’t recall, but he’s sitting on his knees on his sleeping bag and trying dress one of Steve’s numerous wounds. He’s got a nasty cut on his upper arm that Bucky is really worried about - it’s turning a sickly shade of yellow, and Bucky doesn’t know where the disinfectant is. He grabs the strongest liquor he can find, and wets a cloth to clean Steve’s arm. The sharp, sweet smell clouds his head and for a minute he forgets who he is.

Then he feels Steve’s hands on his arms, and he’s crouching on the kitchen floor. The bottle is shattered and that sickly smell is everywhere. Bucky shivers, and desperately tries to cling to his fragments of memories.

“I.. I remembered.” He stutters. “W-we… we were at your house, and we were kids, and we were drinking…” Steve nods.

“My mom left us alone for the day so we tried to break as many rules as we could. I wanted to try one of her drinks. It was a little too strong for me - I threw up later - but you didn’t even flinch.” Steve tells him. Yeah, that sounds about right. Steve trying his best and Bucky hiding his discomfort.

“A-and then…” Bucky continues shakily, “we were in my dining room, and we were dancing together.” Steve smiles at this, but it’s a sad smile.

“I remember. I was so scared someone would see us.” Bucky nods, and moves from a crouch to a comfortable lean against a cabinet. 

“Do you remember the tent?” Bucky asks. Steve shakes his head, furrowing his brows.

“I don’t think so. Tell me about it?”

“We were sharing a tent, and you were hurt real bad. I was cleaning you up, but we ran out of disinfectant, so I used whatever I could.” Steve sits for a second, thinking.

“It does sound familiar… I think I was pretty feverish at that point.” Bucky shrugs. 

“So you don’t remember?” He inquires. Steve shrugs.

“Honestly, no.”

They continue talking for hours, trying to understand how to make old memories resurface without sending Bucky into a flashback. Eventually night falls, and they both go to bed, but right before Bucky falls asleep turns over to look at Steve, and in that moment he swears he can feel all of the love he’s ever felt for Steve.

And for once in his life, he falls asleep easy.


End file.
